


Circuit Reset

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [16]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Warning - Dark content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Something just wasn't right.  He wasn't sure if he could compare it more to a photograph that had been double-exposed or to one of those telephone boards he used to work with, when it had gotten too much static on it for anyone to hear clearly what was being said.  Just, somehow, he had the very uncomfortable feeling that he was either missing something, or maybe getting a blurred image of reality. When Sergeant Kinchloe starts to see his teammates in a new and different light, he finds it a very uncomfortable experience, and asks himself a hard question - is it too late to put those blinders back on??





	Circuit Reset

Kinch hadn't been at Stalag 13 for very long before he had become part of the Command Team for this unlikely Travelers Aid Society, in fact, had become second-in-command; it had happened quickly once his talents were evaluated. He'd done some evaluating of his own during those early days. James Kinchloe had it pretty well figured out, and it hadn't taken long. Soon after he'd entered Stalag 13, he already knew a lot about his commanding officer and his fellow two team mates (rapidly changing to three with the arrival of Sergeant Andrew Carter); knew all he really needed to know. He'd assessed their skills, their personalities, and while he certainly appreciated their dedication to the mission of putting a wrench into the works of the Germans any way they could, he found himself a little critical of them on the personal level; alright, perhaps more than a little critical of some. After all, Sergeant Kinchloe was an upright, hardworking, moral and experienced man, the oldest of the Command Team other than the Colonel, firm in his beliefs, a solid judge of character. He didn't expect a lot of surprises, at least not from his team mates, though he expected the Germans would be coming up with plenty. This might not have been the way he'd envisioned fighting this war, but this was where he'd ended up, and it was an opportunity to do a lot of good. That was more important than forming solid friendships, especially with guys so unlike himself.

In fact, only three months in, Kinch had leaned his head back, looked around the barracks, at the men lounging here and there, and thought about his fellow Unsung Heroes, the Command Team here at Stalag 13. He ticked them off in his mind:  
\- Colonel Robert Hogan - American, career military, intelligent, dedicated, strong and highly principled, capable of formulating devious plans to confound the enemy; charming and irresistible to the ladies, able to talk his way out of just about anything, and talk Kommandant Klink INTO just about anything. A good leader, and surprisingly in a white American officer, totally accepting of one James Kinchloe, black Army Sergeant, accepting in a way few others were, though the rest of the team were fine with him, too, he had to admit. Yes, Colonel Hogan was someone Kinch was proud to serve alongside of, proud to have as his commanding officer.  
\- Corporal Peter Newkirk - British, slum born and raised, chary of the truth, not too terribly concerned about the legality or morality of his actions. Supposedly a part-time magician in civilian life, but since his stories concerned more the 'magic' of making peoples belongings disappear from THEIR possession and enter HIS, Kinch knew how much that meant. Highly talented in the more nefarious arts like picking pockets, locks and safes, cheating at cards, copying someone else's signature, along with some really excellent tailoring skills. A born coward, by his own admission, stalwart ladies man, also by his own (unsubstantiated) claims, a champion braggart, a complainer, selfish and looking out for himself above all else, and a real moody s.o.b. at times. A hot temper and could be a real bully, as evidenced by his treatment of young Andrew Carter, which shouldn't be, especially considering Carter outranked him. Had somehow initiated a relationship with the Colonel that was not only highly improper, but would probably destroy the officer's career if it became known.  
\- Corporal Louie LeBeau - French, furiously proudly French!, a chef who could take poor ingredients and turn out something well worth sitting down to; if you gave him half-way decent ingredients, as when he was talked into cooking for the German visitors, the meal was worthy of at least one or two awards. A man who also claimed more than his share of success with the ladies and was perhaps more enchanted with the whole concept of 'l'amour' than was sensible or proper. Profoundly anti-English, as shown by his running battle of words with one Peter Newkirk; so anti-English, Kinch was amazed they were able to work together; it seemed they never quit squabbling. Profoundly anti-German as well, though frequently had to be cautioned against making that too obvious considering their residence in a German prisoner of war camp. Volatile as he was small. Claustrophobic and hemophobic; though how a man who prepared raw meat could faint at the sight of human blood, well . . .  
\- Sergeant Andrew J Carter - American, half Lakota Sioux, all klutz. Naive, clumsy, chattery, totally gullible young Andrew Carter. Totally inexperienced with the ladies, it would seem, possessed of an innocence that didn't seem to be capable of being shaken even by the situation he'd found himself in. A boy, really, a 'little brother' to them all, though having a rather disturbing, though useful, affinity for explosives. 

 

Surprisingly, such totally different individuals formed a remarkably adept team. Mission after mission proved that, and Kinchloe thought they could all be proud of what they were accomplishing. Still, sometimes he'd look at the men he worked and lived with, and just wondered how they managed. He, for one, knew he had to have a few firm discussions with himself, reminding him of the benefits of minding his own business, being patient, trying to be a responsible adult - oh, a great many things. For it wasn't easy, trying to maintain a good relationship with men so very different than himself; still, it wasn't like he had much choice, and he knew he was lucky in many ways, if only in that they all accepted him at face value, not expecting more or less from him because of his race. They accepted him for who he was, and he made an earnest effort to accept them for who they were. And for the most part, he could do that, though he had to admit the Englishman, Peter Newkirk, was a decided challenge to his patience. He generally just tried to maintain a reasonable distance, work with the man to get the job done, and try not to let himself get too annoyed, well, at least not to show just how annoyed he was.

Just when he started seeing his team mate in a different light, Kinch wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was those letters from the O'Donnell girl, so calm and peaceful, showing a keen mind and level head, and clearly written with so much quiet and sincere affection for the brash Cockney, a deep-down affection that just didn't make a lot of sense to Sergeant Kinchloe. He tried to put the correspondence down to a generous spirit on her part, just trying to keep up the spirits of a soldier away from home, but it still seemed unwarranted, and he had the uneasy feeling he was overlooking, missing something.

Maybe it was the late nights when Kinch was left behind, when sometimes Newkirk was left behind as well (though that didn't happen but rarely, since he was usually part of the outside unit), the two of them waiting in sometimes unspoken anxiety til the others returned; Kinch could see the ever deepening worry in the Englishman's face and would feel a comradeship based on their shared concern, only to again be annoyed when the others DID return only to face snarky remarks and perhaps a slap on the back of the head for LeBeau or Carter for being careless and getting a little banged up. Surely a little more sympathy and concern was the order of the day, not such crude and aggravating behavior, but LeBeau and Carter seemed accepting, even surprisingly pleased at the behavior, which made Kinch wonder if he was again missing something, something important.

Maybe it was when those two young men from Newkirk's past came through the escape route, introduced as 'the Brangle Street Lads,' telling all those stories about Peter and the East End; the same stories in many cases as Peter had already told, but from a different, less-biased perspective. A perspective revealing a lot, but not in the way Kinch expected it to, not outting the Brit as a self-aggrandizing liar and scoundrel and worse, but as something rather different. A perspective detailing a drear, probably abusive home life as a youngster, and a self-made 'family' he'd taken some considerable pains to care for and protect; one highlighting his street talents, fighting skills, and escapades with women certainly, but also his loyalty to his friends, and a set of 'rules of behavior' where women were concerned that was surprisingly responsible. Frankly, Kinch was taken aback that ANY of the prior claims about his interactions with women were true, much less all these young men were relating. In general, their stories had corroborated some of Newkirk's wilder stories, even touched on some more admirable qualities evidenced by the man, which Newkirk had left out of his version entirely instead of picking them out and lauding them.

Certainly Kinch's views had taken a major hit that frightening night in camp when everyone else had been locked in the barracks and those three German guards tried to target Andrew Carter out in the compound, and Peter, instead of looking out for himself and getting himself to safety, which he had had the clear opportunity to do, had knowingly put himself between the young man and those intent on doing him grievous harm, getting Carter to safety but almost getting himself killed in the process; in fact, had to have known that that was a strong probability, but doing it anyway, without hesitation.

Two weeks ago, after Kinch caught that chill and thought he was going to shake to pieces in his bunk, Carter had come with his blanket to fit himself up against him after lights-out, saying they could keep each other warm. Kinch was hurting too much, was too much of a realist to turn him away, and the warmth of another body huddled against his back did help. Still, even with both their blankets, it was still icy, especially with that chill he had going. He knew he was keeping Carter awake with his shaking but he couldn't help himself. Finally, he started to doze, but then woke to a shadow bent over him, and felt the welcome weight of another blanket, warm with someone else's body heat, settle over him, and then a heavier burden, and he knew that woolen RAF greatcoat had been added. When they'd gone to bed, the Englishman had been huddled under both, doing his own fair share of shaking, him not dealing with cold well at all. He heard that tiny whisper from Carter, "thanks, Peter," and held his breath, and watched as the now-shivering man in the long nightshirt made his way back toward his bare bunk, only to be stopped with a murmur from LeBeau, who pulled aside his own blanket, urging that shadow to come inside. Next morning Hogan had looked at them all quizzically, "playing musical bunks, guys?" and Carter had grinned and laughed, "just trying to keep warm, boy, uh, sir. Kinch seems better this morning, I think," and indeed, Kinch did indeed feel better, and knew that night of relative warmth had made all the difference, though he could see the night had taken its toll on the Englishman, who'd come to retrieve that blanket and coat just before anyone was stirring. Since Andrew and LeBeau obviously knew what he'd done, Kinch guessed it was HIM the Englishman was trying to keep in the dark.

Now, it seemed everytime he turned around, there was more to see, more to learn, and not just about Peter Newkirk, but about his other team mates as well. Heck, Kinch was starting to think he didn't even know HIMSELF nearly so well as he'd thought he did, especially after that rescue job by Garrison and his team. And none of that seemed right; Kinch had always considered himself a good judge of character, rarely changing his mind about someone, and it just didn't seem possible he'd been so mistaken in so many ways. And frankly, that worried him more than a little; the situation they found themselves in, the job they had embarked on, knowing who and what you were dealing with, that was vital.

Maybe it was the close quarters they were in, the atmosphere that constantly shifted between extreme boredom, high anxiety, sheer exhilaration, and outright terror; maybe all that crystalized everything, let him catch glimpses of things he'd never have seen before. And as far as the Colonel was concerned, well, that just totally bewildered the sergeant; sometimes anymore it almost seemed like there wasn't just one Colonel Robert Hogan, but like there were two or three or more of them, and that just didn't make any sense. He could almost see the bellcurve of tiny Robert Hogans in his mind, and knowing something about bellcurves, that was faintly disturbing. Finally, Kinch just shrugged and decided the Colonel was just one of those people with so many sides to their personality, each side exceptionally strong; for the most part, he just tried to accept that, and for the most part, he was able to do that. At least, for awhile.

Of course, it wasn't only the Colonel who eventually presented a more complicated view. There was Louie LeBeau, the small volatile Frenchman. Louie was a passionate man, that much was obvious. He was passionate in his love for his country; he was passionate about his cooking; he was passionate in his defense of and care for his teammates; he was passionate in his opposition to all things English, which seemed to include their resident British pickpocket; then Kinch came to realize theirs was a deceivingly complicated relationship, one where deep affection was expressed through near-constant bickering with each other. It had only taken one episode of Newkirk almost succumbing to one of the illnesses that haunted any prison camp to see the true devotion evidenced by the tiny Frenchman, or the way he fretted when Newkirk was, once again, riding out a sentence in the cooler.

And all the times LeBeau moaned about needing this or that for his cooking, and despite complaining about 'all the bloody French cooking around 'ere', Newkirk would somehow, someway, come up with whatever LeBeau was wanting. Or how if LeBeau was working a mission, tucked into one of those tiny spaces he hated so much, it always seemed to be Newkirk who reached him first, pulling him out, wrapping his arms around the small Frenchman, encouraging him to breath, wiping the sweat from his face, chattering low-voiced inanities worthy of any Carter might have spouted. Or the time LeBeau had been captured by the Gestapo and the Colonel was out of reach; Newkirk had gone ahead and, along with Carter, pulled a scam to get him free; a few of the captors, ones who could have identified LeBeau, had not survived, victims of 'bloody incompetent German mechanical engineering' as claimed by Newkirk when the car the Germans was riding in somehow went off a bridge at a very high rate of speed.

LeBeau was also wildly passionate about the slinky White Russian Marya, always insisting the woman, obviously one of ill-repute and even worse behavior, was 'pure as the driven snow!'. Kinch came to accept that passionate obviously did not equate to reasonable or logical. 

Andrew Carter wasn't so confusing an individual, at least he hadn't seemed so, not at first. Oh, he was confusing in some ways, like how someone so naive and clumsy had ever become a Sergeant in the first place. And how anyone so shy around women could be so anxious to meet them and then so shy as to not get anywhere after he DID meet them; somehow the letter coming from Andrew's girl friend breaking off their relationship hadn't been such a surprise to anyone except Andrew, (and surprisingly, to Peter Newkirk, who was quite vocal about how anyone could have pulled such a rotten trick on someone like Andrew in the first place.) And how anyone who could fall over a crack in the floor could successfully put together bombs and explosive packs and chemicals so effectively without blowing himself to bits, and them right along with him.

His love of animals hadn't come as any great shock, not after all his stories about back home, though his insistence on trying to smuggle all sorts into their Barracks was, both a shock and rather annoying, there barely being enough room and supplies for the men much less any other creatures, though the mouse and that rabbit certainly took up less room than the chimpanzee, or the baby goat, or that rather furious badger, or any of the other temporary visitors. And as for that snake and that furry little bat, the less Kinch thought about those, the better.

Andrew's attachment to Newkirk, that was a surprise, as a less likely role model or substitute big brother Kinch could hardly imagine, and it wasn't as if the older man was particularly nice to the younger, always grumbling at him about his chattering and being so clumsy and being so foolish, and Kinch had done all he could think of to try and counter some of Newkirk's bad influence. Still, he was also pretty sure it had been Newkirk's influence and encouragement that had led Carter to try some of the voices and role playing that had become so beneficial for the team. {"Carter as a hysterical young girl whose boyfriend is being lambasted by a protective father. Carter as a chemical weapons expert! Carter as a lunatic German General! Carter as an ersatz Hitler!! Now, I didn't see that one coming!"} He was beginning to suspect all that grumbling and fussing Newkirk did was in a league with what the Englishman did with LeBeau, just his own bizarre way of showing affection toward the young Andrew; Kinch was even beginning to suspect Andrew was quite aware of that and accepted it in the spirit in which it was intended, at least most of the time.

Kinch shook his head at the whole bewildering mess. Surely things didn't have to be so complicated; surely PEOPLE weren't usually so complicated.

Life and events started to interfere with his perceptions more and more. Things happening, things that didn't quite click, actions he wouldn't have expected from his teammates, quick looks, glances that seemed to communicate in a language all their own. Sometimes it was almost like seeing a photograph that had been double-exposed, the top image different from the one below.

And it didn't help that, on kitchen detail with LeBeau, after he'd made a few admittedly rather snide comments to LeBeau about how aggravating and self-absorbed Newkirk could be, including about how Newkirk was always bitching about how clumsy Carter was, yet the Englishman seemed to get just as many bruises, and for no apparent reason, Kinch had gotten a frustrated and angry glare, and LeBeau had muttered something him being an American 'autruche'. A quick trip to his French-English dictionary had him wondering just what the little Frenchman had meant, because he'd never particularly thought of himself as an ostrich. A bear, maybe, but not an ostrich.

One incident after another had him torn between anger at what he was seeing, and frustration at the feeling that he wasn't UNDERSTANDING what he was seeing. The fact that he was supposed to be second-in-command of the team, that made the feeling of being somehow out of the loop untenable. 

So it was that Kinch thought back to his days at the telephone company when the circuits would start getting jammed and staticky and communication was too negatively affected, when the lead technician would have them shut everything down totally and give all the boards a fresh start. He decided it was time for a total 'restart' on himself and how he was looking at his teammates - time to pull the plug on all his earliest impressions, letting some of the 'static' be cleared away, and let the circuits reconnect, this time perhaps showing a cleaner, more clear transmission of reality. While he had a really odd feeling that the new reality might be a lot more uncomfortable than his previous version of it, he didn't much like the vision of himself as an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. {"For one thing, my backside is just too big!"}

And so he did his restart, and as he sat at his radio rewriting some information from the Underground into a code he could send at the appointed time, as he sat there with that little vent open, when reality clicked into place, when he opened his ears and his eyes and began to truly see things as they were, he was stunned. He sat there for a long time, seeing what was versus what he'd believed before, letting the reality sink in.

And that was how Peter Newkirk found Kinch, sitting at his transmitter, staring off into space, staring at that new reality and wondering if it was too late to go back to his old perceptions, and wondering if wanting that made him a coward. Unhappily, he knew the answer to both those questions was a resounding 'yes'.

"Kinch, you alright there? Louie says 'e'll have dinner up in about fifteen, and rollcall right after, so best get topside. Kinch?" and the reserved American soldier blinked his eyes and slowly turned to look at one Peter Newkirk.

"Why did you yell at Andrew earlier, send off to his lab in a snit? You knew the Colonel was looking for him." He watched closely as the deep flush crossed the thin face in front of him, apparent even in the dim light in the tunnel; those blue-green eyes blinked rapidly and shifted away to look more at Kinch's forehead rather into his own dark brown eyes.

"Look, Kinch, sometimes the clumsy git just gets on me last flippin nerve, you know? First stumbling over the laundry basket, and 'ow you do that when it's up to 'is waist I'll never know. Then chattering on about this and that, something about eagles and turtles or some such, flapping 'is 'ands around, flipping me last swig of coffee in me lap. Figured sending 'im off would keep me from 'aving to swat 'im upside the 'ead. Alright, so I was a little rough; still, 'e'll get over it soon enough, always does. Anyways, I was able to take care of what the Colonel needed. Come on, best get moving." And the Englishman was out and gone, obviously not going to stay around for any more discussion of his actions.

Before his 're-set', Kinch would have been angry at the verbal drubbing Newkirk had given Carter, and the banishment, complete with an overly harsh "get to your bleedin lab and stay there til it's time to eat, ye clumsy git!"; angry about Newkirk obviously disregarding the direct order from their commanding officer to find Carter and send him in to him. Now Sergeant James Kinchloe sat, thinking about what he'd seen, and about what he'd heard from that vent that let him listen in on the conversations in the barracks above him, and ALSO some of what he could hear from Hogan's quarters. And he was still thinking when he started toward that ladder, closely followed by a cheerful Andrew Carter coming down the tunnel corridor from his lab.

"Hey, Andrew. You doing okay?"

"Hey, Kinch. Yeah, sure! Got this really neat idea for a new bomb, see, it works on the principal of . . ." and enthusiasm bubbled off the young man.

"You and Newkirk have a falling out?"

"What? No, of course not! Oh, you heard him yelling? Well, I shoulda been more careful, I know. He was kinda in a mood, you know how he gets, and me falling over the clothes basket and landing in the middle of his card game didn't help. And that reminded me of the story of my Uncle Looks At Eagles and the time he stumbled over the turtle and landed in the middle of my grandfather's medicine fire, and I started to tell him about it and when I managed to dump his coffee over in his lap, well, I guess he kinda got irritated. Well, I guess I'd have been irritated at me too. I know my grandfather was really kinda bummed out at my uncle, or so my uncle said, so . . ." The chattering continued up the ladder, though it died out as LeBeau dished up their dinner.

During dinner Kinch was quieter than usual, but the others didn't pay too much attention. There was many a time the older man held back from the general trivia that encompassed their time together. Roll call came and went, and then lights out. 

As he lay in his bunk, Kinch realized his 're-set' had enabled him to see, acknowledge what had really taken place earlier, versus what he would have sworn to be the truth if it had taken place a couple of weeks ago. {"So what it LOOKED like was happening - Peter being in a bad mood, not so uncommon. Andrew doing something clumsy and being typical Andrew, getting lost in one of his stories, creating even more damage, annoying Peter even more. Peter losing his temper and yelling and bullying Andrew and running him off, even knowing Colonel Hogan was looking for him. Making him stay in the tunnels all alone til meal time in retaliation for annoying him."}

Kinch frowned at the ceiling above him, thinking things through. {"So what REALLY happened - the Colonel asking Newkirk where Carter was, telling Newkirk he wanted to see Carter in his office as soon as he got back, then leaving to go to Klink's office. Newkirk looking all glum and worried, dealing out a new game of Solitaire. Carter bouncing in, taking that quick look at Newkirk's face, and going into that clumsy routine, somehow falling over the basket that wasn't even in his path, all the rest, effectively trying to distract Newkirk from whatever was upsetting him, trying to pull him out of his funk. LeBeau remarking, ever so casually, 'Colonel Hogan is coming, I think I will ask him about those supplies,' and dashing out the door, delaying the Colonel for a few minutes. Newkirk glancing out the window, making sure of what was happening out there, and then laying into Carter, driving him down into the tunnels and out of sight, making sure he stayed out of the barracks til meal time. Me following to comfort the kid, but on a hunch, headed to listen at that vent, hearing that conversation in the Colonel's office, between the Colonel and Peter. Peter telling Hogan to 'leave im alone, Robb; 'e's just a dumb kid, wouldn't 'ave a bloody idea what you're about. Aint like you dont 'ave 'ilda or Tiger or any of the others at your beck and call; not like you don't 'ave the Kommandant, not like . . .' And Hogan saying in that silky smooth voice with that knowing smile coming through loud and clear, 'not like I don't have YOU available? Yes, well, you aren't being so 'available' lately, are you? You weren't earlier; you said you had some 'tailoring' to do, I think, those German uniforms? Well, maybe Carter isn't quite so busy.' And the almost strangled, "bloody 'ell, Robb! Alright, whatever you say. Just leave 'im alone, 'im and the others!" And that deep chuckle from Hogan, and then . . . And then, well, I shut off that vent real fast, not fast enough, not nearly fast enough, but as fast as I could, and still enough leaked through, too much, enough I left to head back up to the barracks so I wouldn't hear any more."}

He went cold with the realization of what was really happening around him, what he'd been missing for who knows how long. {"SHIT! They're all protecting each other, looking out for each other! Not just on the jobs, but the rest of the time too. Today, Carter acting the fool, trying to distract Newkirk from getting down, sinking into that pit he disappears into every now and again; LeBeau running interference, trying to give Newkirk the backup he needed, in order to - OH SHIT! - keep Carter out of the Barracks and away from Colonel Hogan - and Newkirk heading into the Colonel's quarters to . . . OH SHIT! OH SHIT! Those bruises?? All the rest?? All to protect Carter, Carter and maybe the rest of us??"}

It was not a peaceful night's sleep, and when sleep did come, so did some highly uncomfortable dreams, enough he woke covered in a chilly sweat and with a bitter taste in his mouth. He lay there for a minute, putting off that moment when he'd have to look into each of their faces, wondering how different each of his team mates would look to him now that he could actually see them. Wondering just how much he could, should allow himself to show in his own face. Wondering how all of this would affect how they worked together, lived together in a situation where they depended so much on each other for survival.

He took a deep breath, and heaved himself up to get dressed and start one more day as part of the Command Team in Stalag 13. He had himself firmly in hand when he turned to greet his commanding officer with his usual smile, "Morning, Colonel. Ready for another day in paradise?" And if that smile was slightly forced, well, everyone knew there were just mornings like that, when you had to make an extra effort to do what had to be done to get through another day.

The next morning, roll call over and the daily work list distributed, Kinch still found himself in an introspective mood. {"LeBeau truly understands what's going on, I'm pretty sure of that. Carter? I think he's just trying to help with Peter's moodiness, keep him from being so unhappy, getting so depressed. I think Newkirk is right; I don't think Andrew would have a clue; I hope he never has to know what's really going on; I know how he was when Peter got hurt trying to protect him from those guards! God knows what he'd do if he figured all this out! Probably march in there and offer himself up as a sacrificial lamb, and Peter would go totally insane with that! Seems like he sees HIMSELF in that ever-so-rewarding role."}

{"Hell! I sure would never have thought of it that way; I was sure it was Newkirk getting Hogan involved, keeping him involved somehow . . . I've been blaming Newkirk all this time, worried about him destroying the Colonel's career."}

"Kinch? Are you alright? The guards are staring, we need to keep moving," LeBeau hissed at the tall black man standing like a statue beside him, his long pick motionless in his hand. A quick exhalation and a rapid shake of his team mate's head, and a fast, "yeah, LeBeau, sorry, just got lost there for a minute. We headed for the kitchen area next, or the Kommandant's office?" and they moved off together, gathering the various bits and pieces of litter scattered about.

Kinch steeled himself, {"after all, fair is fair."} "Louie? What I said in the kitchen the other day? About Newkirk, I mean? I'm sorry about that, man. I was wrong, I" and he paused, wondering just how much he could say, reveal, and knowing he owed the Frenchman, hell, he owed Peter and even himself, the truth. "I didn't understand, not then. If there's anything I can do, like you did yesterday in the courtyard," looking at the short man now staring up at him with huge brown eyes, "let me know. I'll do what I can," gulping.

The shock in those brown eyes now turned to a deep sorrow, "there is not a lot we can do, James, but I will remember."

His voice got very soft and he glanced around to be sure no one was listening, "it wasn't always like that, you know. At one time, I would have said it was a good thing, for both of them, steadied them, you know, for all that had to be done in the fight? But now, the Colonel, well, now it's changed, he's changed, and all we can do is try to help Pierre in what he is trying to do. He sets himself in between, for all of us, particularly for Andre, and sometimes he pays for it with bruises in addition to everything else. He usually does not acknowledge that, not even to himself, not even with the lengths to which the Colonel sometimes can go. I think sometimes he lets himself pretend it is as it was before, perhaps blames himself that it is not. Just be a friend, James; it's not easy, with him, no one knows that better that I do. He is wary of friendship, for many reasons. But, our Pierre, he's worth the effort."

And Kinch frowned, thinking about all that, and nodded, "yes, I think you're right, Louie. He is."

And he thought to ask, "was it when Carter got here? Was that when it all changed?" only to see those sad eyes again, and the reply, "non, James; before Andre, our Olsen was used as the whip, and sometimes me. It was never said, not to me anyway, and I think not to Olsen, and nothing happened, but I could see it. And Pierre would not allow us to be used in that manner simply to avoid bringing him back into line with the Colonel's demands. And how the Colonel could think that would accomplish anything, would let us continue the work we must do, that I do not know. Sooner or later, the breaking point would have come, and he would have gone too far, and I think we would be in need of a new Senior Prisoner of War and we would all probably have been shot by the Bosch. He just does not seem to understand that, any more than he can understand the possibility of one of his plans failing. It is a blind spot for him, I believe. So, in order to do our job, to continue the fight, to try and survive this war, we accept the sacrifice our Pierre is making for us, and we try to be as good friends to him as he will allow us to be."

Those eyes got darker and darker, and he looked up at Kinch, and he whispered, "sometimes, I wonder if that is not what the Colonel is counting on, that we all want so much to defeat the Bosch, that we are willing to overlook so much at the same time."

And Kinch thought again about that bellcurve, about all those tiny Colonel Robert Hogans, all slightly different from the next, some greatly different, and shook his head, wishing he could understand and half afraid of someday being able to do so.

Newkirk was stretched out on top of his bunk, staring at the ceiling, and even from where he was sitting Kinch could see the shudders running through that thin body. The room was cold, true, but not that cold, and the man hadn't even pulled his blanket up around him. From here Kinch couldn't see the new bruises, but he knew they were there, had seen them earlier in the shower. By common agreement, no one remarked on them or the distance the Englishman had put between himself and the rest of the men.

The tall black man thought, considered; the Colonel was gone for his afternoon chess game with the Kommandant, should be gone for a couple, three hours more, considering the heavy rains and the chill of the barracks versus the probable warmth of Klink's quarters. He leaned forward, rubbed his hand over his head and heaved a deep sigh, "Damn I'm jumpy! Must be the weather, or that latest lecture from Klink. Hey, Pete, any chance of you reading those letters from your Caeide again? Maybe from the start? I'm a city boy, but there's something really, well, calming about the way she writes, you know?"

The rangy Brit blinked and looked over, as if bringing himself back from someplace not totally pleasant, and not sure he was the one being addressed, Kinch rarely calling him 'Pete', and not in quite that tone of quiet friendship. With a frown, he started complaining, because, well, because he was Peter, and it was expected, "never volunteered ta be the day's entertainment, I didn't. Just laying there, minding my own business, next thing you know I'm supposed to just . . ."

And still grumbling, he heaved himself down out of his bunk, opened his footlocker and retrieved that stack of letters tied so carefully with that frayed piece of twine, and pulled out the first one he'd received, his fingers drifting over the envelope in a soft caress, and a quick look of intense longing replaced the bleak painful one of a few moment ago. And Kinch got just a little smile at the sound of the Englishman's voice, reading that letter, his voice starting to even out, seeing that jumping pulse in the side of his throat start to ease.

The sergeant glanced over at LeBeau, to catch a quick smile in return, and when he looked at Carter, the very knowing look and solemn nod, one of thanks and of approval, well that shook him. {"Sometimes, I just have to wonder about our Andrew,"} And the thought of bellcurves came back into his mind, and he wondered if he had been overlooking something with Andrew as well. He took another look at that naive, open face, that smile of enjoyment, and shook his head, {"Naw, not possible, not Andrew; just a trick of the light, that's all!"} Kinch went back to listening to the peace now building in their Englishman's voice, knowing that, at least for now, he'd been able to help their friend just a little. And looking around the room, he thought he might have been able to help the rest of them too. He'd been telling the truth; there was just something about those letters . . .


End file.
